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TOLD AND DRAWN BY E. BOYD SMITH 






















































































































































FUN IN THE RADIO WORLD 









FUN IN THE RADIO WORLD 

TOLD AND DRAWN BY 

E. BOYD SMITH 

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NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

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Copyright, 192?,, by 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 

All Rights Reserved 


PRINTED IN the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


SEP 15 76 

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FUN IN THE RADIO 



WORLD 






DOWN IN THE BARNYARD 



Of course everybody nowadays knows about radio—wireless—sending out 
through the air sound-waves which make music or messages. It is all very won¬ 
derful. This “broadcasting” is of concerts, songs or talks, as may be. When the 
big sending stations, like Newark, send out their radio, it goes in every direc¬ 
tion, just as the sun sends out its light and heat, and any one with a “receiver” 
can pick it up. And that’s what we’re all doing now, all over the country, 
more or less. 

Away it goes, north, south, east and west, all over the Avorld —and away be¬ 
yond even, where we can’t follow it 

Let’s try and keep on its track for a while, as far as we can go, anyway. Right 
here on our farm "Willie has his receiver, and catches the music from the big sta¬ 
tions. With his “amplifier”—“loud talker”—and horn he gives us all concerts. 

The first time the animals heard it down in the barnyard, as you may imag¬ 
ine, they were surprised, yes, indeed. Music is a pretty universal language, so 
perhaps they understood it, though they must have been astonished to hear so 






























































much noise, with nobody making it. They pricked up their ears, for you know 
they can move their ears backward or forward until they connect up with the 
sound. Now we can’t do this though we may try ever so hard; but then they 
have lots of advantages we haven't got—they don't have to go to school, or 
wash their faces. 

The billy-goat said, “Gee! What a racket!” and went on nibbling at a nice 
tomato can he had found, for billy-goats try to eat nearly everything. The rab¬ 
bits were uneasy; they don't like noise; still they were curious like the others. 
The pig grunted her disapproval, and turned up her nose. The dog said he'd 
heard it before, for he has the run of the house as well as the farm-yard and 
knows evervbodv. The horse didn't mind it much, for he often went to town, 
so was used to strange noises; didn’t even mind a Ford, and that sometimes 
makes odd noises. Hut the cows weren t at all sure they liked it, and they 
talked it over together. 

Of course in time they all got used to it. and perhaps were even curious to 
hear new pieces—we never can tell. 




THE CHICKENS AND SUCH 


Now naturally the fowl heard all this, too. We can't even guess what they 
thought of it; perhaps at first that they were being called to be fed. But they 
are more excitable than the animals, and when they found they couldn't under¬ 
stand it they began to be alarmed, and did a lot of talking. It’s too bad we 
can’t know what they say, though sometimes we can guess what they mean 
pretty well. 

The mother hen, we can be sure, told her little ones that something was 
wrong, and said, “Let's get right away from here,” while the others cackled ex¬ 
citedly. The rooster, always bold, crowed defiance. If it meant a fight, why, 
he said, he was ready. 

The ffeese stretched out their necks and hissed. And the ducks said, “Quack! 

O 

Quack!” They all have different ways. 

And the crows, protesting “Caw! Caw!” up and flew away. 

The peacock proudly spread his wonderful tail; he always shows off when he 
gets excited. And the guinea-fowl made a clatter like a machine-gun, as they 
always do a startled, for they always talk back. 






































Whenever “static” spoiled the music the ducks cocked their heads, and said 
“Quack! Quack!” again. That seemed like the real thing to them. 

But all in all they were like a good many people and didn't like any change; 
“standing pat” was good enough for them. They wanted a cpiiet life and pre¬ 
ferred to do their noise-making themselves; and sometimes they do quite a lot. 
I suppose you have often heard the hens after they have laid their eggs, cluck¬ 
ing and cackling as though they had done something wonderful. Well, perhaps 
they have a right to take themselves so seriously, for every day they give us 
nice fresh eggs—and eggs are awful high now. All they ask us to do is not to 
forget meal times, their meal times, and they all come with a rush for their break¬ 
fast or supper. We really couldn’t get along without them, after all. And the 
rooster is just as good as an alarm clock: every morning he loudly tells us when 
it is time to get up. 



THE SWIMMING-HOLE 


Just behind the house runs the river; not a very big one, though sometimes 
after the heavy rains it swells to a fair size: hut under the little bridge is a good 
swimming-hole where the water is deep enough to dive. Here the hoys have 
great times, especially during the long vacation. And right here is where they 
all learn to swim, just as most of their fathers did when they were boys. 

Dogs and hoys always chum together a good deal, and down here life is pretty 
much of a glorious picnic for them all. It's strange, too, that the dogs seem 
to know how to swim without learning, while the hoys don’t find it so easy at 
first. But then they can dive, and “pick bottom,” or swim under water. 

Now, everything would be pretty nearly perfect if it weren’t for the chores at 
home they sometimes forget; and somehow there is no dodging these chores— 
though I fear we all try it. 

Willie has a mechanical bent, and made a transmitter, so that he can send 
out radio messages for a short distance. But, alas, his mother knows this and 
how to use it. So, in the best of the swimming he hears her call. 









































The other hoys say it's only “static,” hoping so; but no; Willie knows better. 
He has heard only too clearly, “Willi-am, you’re wanted.” lie sighs. “When 
she says ‘William’ 1 know I’d better go.” So radio is used in a practical way. 
Willie sometimes thinks perhaps he made a mistake in being so ingenious. 

But, after all, it doesn't take such an awful long time to chop the fire-wood, 
or run an errand. And after that his radio is worth while, for he can “listen 
in” and get the baseball scores of the day, all about the big league games, and 
proudly tell the other boys just what the Yankees or the Giants did to-day. 

His father, too, finds it useful, for he can get the latest prices of crops he has 
to sell, from the big cities. And the weather reports for to-morrow—all very 
useful. 

And besides all this, when the day’s work and play are over, they can all enjoy 
some good, lively concert, or band music. So the radio brings them lots of in¬ 
teresting things, which just come singing through the air. 





































WITH THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS 



Though the young folks all know how to enjoy the long vacation there are 
some special ways which they like, such as camping, the \ . M. C. A., or Boy 
Scouts, or Camp Fire Girls. 

Let’s take a good look at the girls’ camp. Here they are, a lot of them, big 
and little, all having a splendid time, with games and sports without end. Some 
of them even try baseball, but that really is the boys’ game, for the girls don't 
like “hot ones.” They paddle and row, and learn to swim, and even dive. In 
fact, they have no end of a good time. Only they can tell about it properly, 
as they do when they get back home. 

Here they are now listening to radio, that radio, which is all the time on its 
travels. Some one knows just the hour a concert is going to be sent out. The 
receiver is tuned to fit W J Z, or whatever it may be—that means coming from 
Newark, or Pittsburg, or some big center. 

And they hear such a variety of good things, songs and stories, and even talks 






















on a lot of different subjects; for the radio programs are very varied, and dif¬ 
ferent every day. And all they have to do is stop from play for a while and 
gather near the receiver. And while some one sings, miles and miles away, they 
can hear it all perfectly. Xow this is really very wonderful, but we get so used 
to it that we forget the wonder and just enjoy it. 

Then off away, to blind man’s buff, and more and more games. Till supper 
time comes; then perhaps another evening concert, and, tired maybe, but well 
and happy, away to the big tents to sleep, while the moon rises bright above the 
camp, and all is quiet and safe; to sleep till to-morrow’s sun rises, and then, 
begin all over, with play and new radio concerts. 

How did we ever get on without this wonderful radio? And there is always 
the interest of hearing new pieces, and wondering what surprises there will be in 
the next concert. 

Sometimes, as well as the music and stories, they get garden or cooking talks, 
something f@r every taste. 



V 





AND THE BOY SCOUTS 



When the Boy Scouts camp they, too, of course, have their share of radio. 
They especially like it at night, when they gather around a lively, blazing camp¬ 
fire, after a hard day of play. 

Some of the records—to call them that—give them good instructive advice. 
They take this, I fear, as all in the day’s work, with the rest; but what they really 
enjoy best are the funny stories, and that is all right, naturally. 

Sometimes they get a good “Brer Rabbit” story, well told, like the “Wonder¬ 
ful Tar Baby” story. Don’t you know these stories? Well, you d better read 
them, unless you have the good luck to hear them by radio, and even so they’re 
worth reading again. 

They laugh and chuckle with glee, and call for more, but of course they have 
to take what comes—comes from the K I)KA station, many, many miles away. 

In the daytime they are busy, doing hikes, drilling, or playing; running-jump, 
basket-ball, football, baseball, etc. Always busy, working hard at having a good 
time. No doubt you know all about it. 















These camps are fine things for boys, and they learn a good deal too, in one way 
or another. Some with mechanical instincts are not satisfied just to hear the 
radio. They want receivers of their own, at which they tinker and work until 
they can get in touch with very far-away stations. And some even make quite 
good home-made receivers. Before long they will he everywhere in our homes, 
just like the phonograph, and we can have all the music we want just by taking 
it out of the air. And well all have fun with radio. 

Of course the boys want to know how it was invented—or they ought to. 
Well, they will find the beginning went away back to Benjamin Franklin, and 
others of his time; then Morse invented the telegraph, sending sound electri¬ 
cally through wire. The experiments of Ilerz followed. Then Marconi suc¬ 
ceeded in sending messages through the air by “wireless.'' Poulsen next developed 
the radio. And now in our own country men are steadily improving it. And they 
are really only starting; there is no telling what they will succeed in doing with 
it before they get through. 

They still have trouble with “static’—that's some outside interference which 
sometimes breaks in with strange noises and spoils messages. 






ON THE BEACH 


We all like to get clown to the beach in warm weather, where everything is so 
bright and cheerful, and everybody bent on having a good time. 

Ah, clambakes too! How delicious they are! We hustle about to gather odd 
sticks of driftwood, and get a good smoky fire going. And how we do manage 
to eat! The sea air makes us hungry, especially the children. 

Oh, there’s nothing like the beach on a hot summer day! The clean salt sea 
laps in and brings a cooling breeze with it. We gather pretty colored shells 
and pebbles. And go in swimming, of course. 

And now the boys get the good of their swimming-hole training. And the 
salt water is so much easier to swim in, it floats us better, even if it does get in our 
noses. Everybody tries it, grown people and children. 

Of course there are merry-go-rounds near at hand, and you can be sure they are 
well patronized, and kept busy. Even the big people are tempted sometimes, for 
after all they are only grown-up children. 











































Out at sea a yacht race may be going on. And the sea-gulls lazily fly about. 
Often overhead buzzing aeroplanes sail, high up, or swooping down. And every¬ 
thing is lively. Xo care here; this is a time for being happy. 

And the radio, naturally, is here too, for now we find it everywhere, and 
plenty of receivers give us music. And the jazz sets the bathers capering around 
on the warm sand, the big and the little people. Radio adds to the joy of things 
here, and wakes us up when we get sleepy. We would miss it now. It is all 
about us, though we can't see it. We hear it, and it keeps right on going farther 
and farther, out. out over the great open sea. Xothing stops it, though we 
catch it as it goes by. But we’ve got to be cpiick about it, as it won’t wait for 
us once it’s started on its travels. Away it goes, carrying its fun and song to the 
whole world. 




OUT ON THE OPEN SEA 


Away out on the ocean ships are always sailing, in every direction, some car¬ 
rying passengers across the sea from one country to another, others with goods, 
on trading voyages. And still others off whaling—that is, chasing and captur¬ 
ing the great whales. We have all heard of these great creatures even if we don't 
often see one. 

And so they go, these ships, through stormy weather and good weather, sail¬ 
ing, sailing, far from home, and often a long while without ever seeing any 
land. 

Now it seems that ships can receive radio very well, as over the great open 
sea the sound-waves travel without any interference. 

On our ship here the captain’s boy has connected up with the broadcasting 
from away back home. And the same music which made the bathers on the beach 
dance now is caught by this ship out in the middle of the great ocean, and the 
sailors are enjoying it, just as we did on shore. 














































They may not dance very gracefully, but they have a good time. Some dance 
the hornpipe—that is a favorite sailor's dance; others the jig. or whatever strikes 
their fancy. The goat, their mascot, gets excited, and butts as well as dances. 
Even the whales and hig fish get interested, and wonder what's up. and where 
all that music comes from, for. of course, they can't understand it. 

So here. far. far away from home, the sailors can hear the same music of radio 
which we do. You see it can go anywhere and everywhere. And the ship can 
even call up the stations on the shore, hundreds of miles away, and carry on con¬ 
versations. So they no longer feel as though they were out of the world, and 
forgotten. If they get into trouble they can call for help. Or if they don't 
know just where they are. all they have to do is ask the shore stations, and the 
right one will give them their position. To them the radio has already become 
a valuable thing. 














IN WILD AFRICA 


Farther away still, off on the other side of the ocean, daring men explore 
strange wild parts of Africa which we know little about. These are the men who 
make our geographies; at least they give us information to put in them, about 
the far-away unknown places of the world. 

Sometimes theirs is a dangerous life, and they have to deal with fierce savages. 
They, too, carry their receivers and can pick up the radio from home, this same 
radio which has crossed the ocean. They connect up and give the natives a con¬ 
cert. And these savage black men who might easily be very dangerous, are so 
astonished, and so impressed by the wonders of the white men that for the time 
they become quite safe to travel among. 

So in this strange land where perhaps white men have never been before this 
radio becomes a very useful thing. 

Of course the explorer knows just the hours when the big stations at home 
start their concerts. He looks at his watch, tunes up to the right pitch, and sets 











































You can easily imagine the surprise of the natives; of course they think it is 
magic. Xo wonder, when they hear all this music, or talking, coming from no¬ 
where. They drink it in with wide eyes and open mouths. When one concert 
ends the explorer tunes up for W B Z. or lv Y W—this means, of course, the big 
central broadcasting stations back in America—and gives them another. And 
so in time wins over the tribe, who will do anything for him now, to get more 
music. 

Now all goes well until the wild animals of the neighborhood get interested, 
for it seems that music attracts them, too. And they gradually begin to edge 
up, closer and closer, till pretty soon elephants’ and lions’ heads are seen peer¬ 
ing through the bushes. 

This spoils everything. The natives scamper off to cover in a hurry, for they 
know these animal neighbors are dangerous. The explorers, too, leave their ma¬ 
chine and retreat to some safer place. And the receiver is left alone, singing away 
all by itself. 





IN WILD AFRICA ( Continued ) 


And now the wild beasts have the concert all to themselves. The hand music 
makes some of them roar, in rivalry, till others tell them to “shut up,” so they 
can hear, for they are rude beasts. 

They take it in different ways. The elephant good-naturedly thinks it’s 
funny. The leopard isn't sure that he likes it, and growls; but then he has rather 
a surly disposition. 

At times they all begin to sing, each in his own way, and such a concert was 
never heard before. 

Alike, the big monkey, who used to he an exhibit at the Bronx, tries to ex¬ 
plain things. When the record just talks the animals grow bored, and show signs 
of getting ugly, and Mike has trouble keeping them from smashing everything, 
for it seems that wild beasts don’t like to be talked to, especially when they don’t 
know what it’s all about. 

Now Alike, of course, didn’t understand everything, but he wanted to show off 























































so much that he pretended he did, and when he got stuck he said “That’s static’’ 


—which, as you might well think, didn’t mean anything to the others. 

I don't suppose radio ever had such a strange audience before. No one in 
Newark or Pittsburg ever dreamed that their music was being heard by these 
wild beasts, in the heart of Africa. But, as we see, radio goes to queer places. 

All went along pretty well till in time the music stopped, the W B Z concert 
had come to an end, and nobody was there to start it again, or W Y K. And 
now a sudden silence fell, awfully silen after all this racket of band and animals. 

The creatures were alarmed; noise they understood, but this sudden silence 
frightened them. In alarm they slowly turned, and with their tails between their 
legs, headed back for their own homes in the jungle, where they are probably 
still talking it over. 

The blacks and the explorers, now seeing the coast clear again, came out from 
cover. And all was safe as before, and the receiver ready to start up again. 




AMONG THE COWBOYS 


Now we have been following this radio away off east, across the ocean to 
Africa. Let's see what it is doing in another direction—and all at the same time, 
for you remember when it is broadcasted it goes out in every direction, all at 
once. 

Away out west across our big country, in the land of high mountains and 
broad plains, are the big cattle ranges, where our beefsteaks and lamb chops grow. 
This used to be the home of the Indians, but now the cowboys have pretty well 
taken their place. 

These cowboys are picturesque in their wild costumes, and wild ways, always 
dashing about, and going in for much horse play. 

They are very skillful with the lasso, in roping runaway cattle, and are dar¬ 
ing riders of wild horses. Perhaps you have seen some of them at Wild West 
shows, doing their stunts. Things are changing so fast in our country that soon 



































they probably will be like the Indians, forgotten, and only an echo of picturesque 
days. 

Down in Texas, at the ranch, they pick up radio, like the rest of us, and have 
their concerts. The same music we have been following. And the boisterous 
cowboys come tumbling in to hear the latest. They dance and sing, and make 
much noise. And frighten Mary’s little lamb—not, of course, the original one 
of the old verses, but one very much like it no doubt. 

Later they will get the baseball scores, and learn how the games came out 
to-day. We are all alike in this, from one side of the country to the other, and 
radio treats us all alike; it just giyes out the news and any one can get it who 
listens in. And its program is so varied that there is something for every taste. 
And then, too, often several central stations are broadcasting at about the same 
time, so if you don’t like one concert you can always tune up to another. They 
all have different keys, as you know if you have a receiver. 









AND THE INDIANS 


In another direction, north and west, on the Indian Reservations, live the 
last of the Indians, these Indians whose fathers not so very long ago had this 
great, wide western country all to themselves. Plenty of old people still living 
remember those days, before the railroads were built across the plains, and the 
buffalo used to roam in immense herds, a thousand strong, perhaps. 

These the Indians hunted with bow and arrow. This, of course, was before 
guns came their way. From these hunts they got their food, and the skins for 
their tents, and even their clothes—though they wear very little; but what they 
do wear, or rather what they used to wear, were skins. 

Now all this has changed. The buffalo are nearly all gone. The wild country 
is all built up, and cultivated. And the Indians do no more hunting. 

Sometimes on their reservation they have their old ceremonials and dances, and 
dress up in the old ways. They used to be pretty wild and hard to manage. 
Now, when they get worked up, and have too lively a dance which threatens 





















trouble—all stripped, painted, and decked out with feathers—the Government 
agent, who is supposed to look after them, starts the radio going, to calm them. 

Now this rival dance music, of some jazz band, attracts the young ones away 
from their own old fighting music, and works for peace. In this way the agent 
finds his radio very useful—a lot better than soldiers. 

Like most of us, they, too, soon become interested in the latest things. That, 
just now, is radio. So here is a good use for it, to civilize them, and make them 
good Americans. 

And so it is: go where we will we can always find this radio in the air every¬ 
where, just waiting to he picked up and listened to. 

The traveler, the prospector, and mountain miner, and all people who live 
far off in remote places, no longer need feel lonely, for radio keeps them in 
touch with all the rest of the world. 







UP IN THE ARCTIC WORLD 


And still radio keeps on traveling, always on the go. Here it has been picked 
up in Alaska, at Nome perhaps, and broadcasted out to reach the whalers, seal¬ 
ers, or explorers, away up in the Arctic Circle. 

This is the home of the Aurora Borealis—the Northern Lights we sometimes 
see in the sky—the polar bear, the seals, and the Eskimos. 

We have just been among the Indians, who don't like to wear any clothes to 
speak of, but here we find a people who have to wear a lot of the thickest furs. 
For their country is cold, often very, very cold. It’s a wonderful country in 
its way, all ice and snow. Most of us like to sit in front of a nice fire and read 
about it, though Stefansson likes it. 

It is a land of big empty spaces, no life but here and there a stray white hear. 
No towns, no Fords—probably the only place in the world of which this can be 


























But the Eskimos call it home. Here they hunt the huge walrus, of big tusks, 
or the seals, and they never seem to complain of the cold. They live in round 
ice houses—“igloos’’—which they manage to keep warm, from all accounts. Here 
a ship, frozen in, has caught the radio, and surprises the natives; because, of 
course, nothing like this was ever heard in their world before. 

This is in a way the end of our world, the farthest we can go. 

Now we have been on a long trip, or many of them, trying to keep up with 
radio. Even from our own barnyard, away up here to the North Pole almost. 
But we have at last come to the jumping-off place and must stop. 

But no doubt radio keeps right on—off the world—right out into empty space. 
And if it is strong enough perhaps it even reaches Mars, or ringed Saturn, or 
some of the other planets, so far, far away. We don't know whether any peo¬ 
ple live there or not. If they do, I wonder if they have receivers up there? 
Who knows? 








































































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